The Darkest of Nights
by Faithless Shadow
Summary: [Part Two] The world of the adventurer. A world which none of them could have been prepared for. A world which none of them, ultimately, were able to survive. [Neverwinter Nights novelisation] On hold until December due to National Novel Writing Month.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is my retelling of Neverwinter Nights, the original campaign. But instead of telling it from the point of view of only one character, I have included three. (At the beginning, I had no idea what I let myself in for by doing this. Now I am wishing I had at least left it at two.) Just so you know who's who - Kialeth spellsword, elf, heroine. Kyral ranger, elf, antihero-thing. Peregrine fighter, human, jealous. You'll learn more about them as you read, or so I hope.  
The plot? Well, there's three, which is pretty logical when you think about it. They all intertwine, and as such I don't write about the main quest in great detail. NWN moved so slowly it sent me to sleep, so I've sped it up a little, which means that fantastic detail and description have been compromised a little. I hope nobody minds.  
When it comes to reviews, senseless flaming will be ignored. I won't waste my time on that kind of thing, or the people who do it. Constructive criticism is loved and adored. Friendly comments are too. "OMGZ I luuuuuuv ur st0r13!111one!satanlives!" comments will be attacked viciously by yours truly. (Read my profile and get a dictionary.) But don't be scared! I don't bite... usually.  
Updates will be slow, because I'm writing a lot at the minute, this being only one of the things. So don't worry if I disappear for a few weeks, I'll come back. Honest!  
Hmm... yep, I think that's everything. Oh yes, one more thing: 

Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights or any of the characters that feature in it. I own Kialeth, Kyral, Peregrine, a few plot twists and that's it. All right?

Edit: I just went back on a minor editing run through this chapter and chapter two, tweaking something I didn't like very much about the story. If you can tell me what it is, you can have a virtual tiefling cookie. If you can't, don't worry.

Enjoy the story.

**Prologue - in which the authoress carries on for six more A4 pages than she ever should have been allowed to.**

Some people are born to be heroes. Though half the time they don't know it, they're genuinely good, kind men and women, standing strong even through their darkest times. They're driven and determined, sometimes dauntingly so to those of lesser mettle. And even when they want to be hated, when they feel they deserve to be despised, people still stick by them, not because of any ties of friendship but because these people have earned their respect, despite anything else they may have done. Some people are born to this fate, regardless of whether they want it or not. They can't escape it, no matter how hard they try. It is who they are.

But while some people are born to be heroes, there are others who are born for the opposite. Some people are fated for darkness, to walk in the shadows and reap the spoils evil brings to them. They try and deny it, much of the time; they try and fight off the darkness within them and tread the path of the light instead. But even as they struggle, they know deep inside that it's a pointless endeavour. They insist on keeping fighting, because they cannot admit their failure, but in the end, they will surrender. They will fall. And they will not regret it. Some, with the help of another, are redeemed, but this is rare. Most people steer well clear of them.

And yet, there are some people who are born for neither of these things. They will insist that they were intended for a life of one or the other, as we all do, to feel the sense of belonging and purpose it gives them, but in the end, they can't seem to do things right either way. It is their lot in life to content themselves with what they have, and at least try to look pleased about it all. Their lives, like anyone else's, will have ups and downs, and they will be influenced greatly in their choices by this. But in the end, no matter how hard they try, they can't change themselves. They can't remake themselves. They're simply fated to have what they have.

This story is about three people. One of them was born for heroism, though she could never really bring herself to accept it. One of them was born for evil, though she tried fiercely to save herself from her fate. And the other was born for neither, though he fell each way once.

This is the story of an epic adventure, but there is so much more to it than that alone. This is a story about the darker side of heroism, the shadows cast by those who stand in the light, and the side of evil that is far more just and honest than good. This is a story about three people with intertwined destinies, and how those destinies played against each other to reach their destinations, resulting in their ultimate separation. This is a story about good and evil, a quest to save one of the greatest cities in the North, and which of the sides of the eternal conflict will truly help one reach one's goal.

If you're sure you wish to stay, then come - sit by my fire. Make yourself comfortable, prepare yourself for a long evening, and listen well. I have a tale to share with you.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Kialeth staggered across the City Core, trying and failing to ignore the warm blood trickling lazily down her right arm. Her entire body hurt, her head was spinning, but she had to keep moving. After everything she had just lived through, after all she had just endured, she would not die. She had not survived all that for nothing. She refused to give in.

Stumbling through the cold, smoky streets of Neverwinter, she slowly began to recognise where she was going. The Trade of Blades; the nearest building she was likely to find a room. It would never have been her locale of choice, but under the circumstances, anywhere that would take her was satisfactory.

As she reached the door to the mercenary enclave, a light dusting of rain began to fall down, just enough to bring welcome relief to her searing skin. She stood for a long moment, letting the droplets of water wash away the heat, the sweat and the blood, before lifting a fist and knocking hard on the back door - a door which she knew led to the kitchens. Remembering the time when Rovas Marko, Wesell Marko's big brother from the Academy, had pioneered a raid on the kitchens of the Trade of Blades, Kialeth was forced to choke back a violent sob that threatened to spark a full-on flow of tears.

Rovas was dead. Wesell was dead. The Academy was burned to the ground.

She, Kialeth, the only spellsword student in the Academy, had been a survivor.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_"Greetings and well met," beamed the beautiful paladin. "You must be Kialeth, the Academy's resident spellsword-in-training. I am Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande."_

_Kialeth, in her mind's eye, could almost see Kyral rolling her eyes and muttering a curse at Aribeth. However, she pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind and nodded, bowing in an attempt to show respect. Aribeth smiled as Kialeth straightened up, continuing with her speech. "It is good to finally meet you in person. Your tutor spoke very highly of you when I arrived this morning." _Mental note - thank Diadan for putting in a good word. _The spellsword had to repress a grateful smile towards her absent tutor. "I must say, he seems to be expecting great things-" Suddenly, Kialeth's concentration slipped. There was a ripple in the air; a magical disturbance. Someone was casting a spell - and it certainly wasn't any of the students. Something was wrong, and Aribeth seemed to sense it too. "Wait. What was that? Did you feel it?" _

_The spellsword was about to nod when a glowing blue light erupted in each corner of the south assembly hall. Four black-clad mages appeared in the room, bursting into spell-casting action almost immediately. "Brace yourselves - we are under attack!" yelled Aribeth to everyone in the room, as all the students drew their weapons in a mass panic. The battle had begun._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_Kialeth's head was over-full of information as she made her way through the Academy to the stables. _Protect the Waterdhavian creatures, _Aribeth had told her. So did that mean the rumours were true? And why her? Why didn't Aribeth ask one of the warriors or paladins to go through to the stables? What had she done that made her such material for heroism? And where, damn everything else, were Kyral and Peregrine?_

_A low, masculine voice sneered at her from the corners as the familiar sounds of a summoning spell filled the room. "So you survived, did you? Well, that can soon be remedied, fool! Now, my minions - attack!"_

_As Kialeth was set upon by mage and goblins all at once, she realised just how much she had let herself in for. She drew her rapier and ignited it into mage-flame. The sound of the flames alone was enough to terrify one of the goblins into backing up against the wall; taking the initiative, the spellsword struck it down, spinning back around to face the other attackers and nearly overbalancing. She gave a yelp of pain as the mage dealt a fierce blow to her right side with his quarterstaff, and the flames on the rapier flickered and died as she lost concentration._

I'm not going to die, _she thought furiously to herself as she brought the swords up and around, delivering a solid blow to the last of the goblins. _I have a mission and I won't let Aribeth down. I'm not going to fail. _And on that thought, she swung the blade and decapitated the mage, then brought it around in a follow-up blow to the goblin. It was killed instantly._

My first real battle, _Kialeth thought to herself, gingerly touching her bruised right side and wincing instinctively as it stung violently in response. At least she had survived, she reminded herself weakly. At least she wasn't dead. But for some reason, that felt like a rather weak argument even to her own self. At least she wasn't dead… but she was in pain, and it had been very, very close for a while there. _Let's not make a habit out of that…

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_"Where are we now?" asked Kialeth, her voice hoarse from screaming directions to her new companion. The question was genuine; she had never been here before. She was tired, scared and more battered than she had ever been after training with Diadan… That thought brought on a new tirade of worries in her worn-out mind. Had her tutor survived? Had he been killed, or taken captive? Which was worse? What had happened to Kyral and Peregrine? Hard as she tried to derail that train of thought, it had picked up too much steam far too quickly. Desperate for a distraction, she turned her gaze to the fighter standing beside her._

_Pavel, one of the newer recruits in the Academy, shook his head, rubbing the side of his face where the skeleton had struck him. "I haven't a clue. I'm new here, remember? Never been this far in before." He sighed. "Well, there's only one way we can go, isn't there?"_

_Resigned to her fate, Kialeth nodded slowly. "I suppose there is." She paused, trying to find words to say what she wanted to say. "Thank you for coming with me," she mumbled eventually. "I hope… I hope we live through this."_

_"Me too," agreed Pavel, striding towards the door. "Good luck in there, Kialeth."_

_She nodded, her throat suddenly rather constricted, and gestured to pass through the door. And so Kialeth and Pavel opened the door and crossed over the threshold to the stables._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Realising nobody had come to the door, Kialeth lifted her fist again, knocking harder this time. There was still no answer. It was late, she realised as the rain spattered down over her hair and shoulders, probably too late to justify waking anybody up. Resigned to the cold and the wet for the night, she settled herself down against the wall of the mercenary enclave, tired and in pain, and let sleep claim her at last.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Kyral Amaline scowled as the rain began to fall, hating it for making her even more uncomfortable than she already was. _No, _she reminded herself mentally, though. _No hatred. Hatred is not a good emotion. _

But this was one of those nights; Kyral really was not worried about good or evil right now. Pushing open the door to the Moonstone Mask, she strode right up to the matron and hissed, "I am looking for passage out of Neverwinter. Can you provide me with this, or not?"

Ophala Cheldarstorn, the matron of the brothel with a face like an overfed squirrel and a body to match, looked disapprovingly down at the hooded elf. "I run a house of repute, young lady," she rebuked Kyral, who matched the foolish human's angry scowl with a vicious glare of her own. "We are an honest establishment and can provide you with no such thing. Speak to someone in the Docks if you wish for that kind of service."

"You think I haven't tried to get through to the Docks?" demanded Kyral through the scarf that covered her mouth and much of her nose. "You think I haven't tried every trick I know to get through the barricade?" She repressed a snarl of frustration. "But I can see I won't find what I'm looking for here. Can I at least have a place to stay until things die down?"

Ophala eyed Kyral with disdain. "That depends… are you willing to work?"

"No," stated the ranger flatly. The idea did not even bear consideration.

The matron shrugged. "Then you can find somewhere else. There's the door; use it."

Taking the overweight human's advice, Kyral stormed off towards the door, slamming it loudly behind her. Did that imbecile really think she would come anywhere near the Moonstone Mask unless it was as a last resort, unless things were so desperate Kyral had nowhere else to go?

_At least in the Mask I might have been safe, _thought the ranger furiously, heading across the City Core towards the gates. _Nobody looks for a conscripted runaway in a whorehouse._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_Kyral looked down at the dead body of Ferdinand and the caged corpses of his precious menagerie. The mages had been brutal in their killing; swift and brutal. They had appeared, shot their spells around the room and vanished. She had barely made it; the frost-burn from the Ray of Frost spell she had been hit by seared with pain on her shoulder. It should have killed her, and she knew it. If it had hit her chest, it might have done._

_She dreaded to think what would have happened if she'd been in the assembly hall like she was supposed to. At last, the Academy rumour mill had some benefits; the story that she had put toads in Cara Meyne's (the most popular, angelic, religious little healer princess ever to grace the training rooms) bed had kept her from being able to go to Aribeth's ceremony due to fear of being lynched by Cara's worshippers. A few hours ago, she had been griping about how it was always she who was the target, but now she actually felt relieved that this was the case._

_All of a sudden, her heart lurched. Kialeth and Peregrine had been going to the ceremony. They would have been in the hall._

_They had been her only friends in the Academy; she had to go and see what had happened. She owed them that much, even if it cost her something as valuable as her own life. Yes, her own neck was important, but… well, it was the right thing to do, wasn't it?_

_At that thought, a wave of pain attacked Kyral, making her gasp in pain. _This hood is going to be the death of me, _her mental voice snarled, before leaving the Menagerie. After all, she didn't want the hood to kill her just yet. She had some friends to reach._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_The south assembly hall was an absolute mess. Kyral was rather satisfied to see the dead bodies of both Wesell Marko and his big brother Rovas amongst the general corpses, but she didn't see anyone else she recognised. Even Aribeth seemed to have hightailed it._

Typical, _she thought to herself. _I take the time to do something decent for once, put up with all the grief this bloody hood gives me, and they've all jumped ship before I can do anything to help.

_So Kialeth and Peregrine were alive. But where?_

_Cursing her curiosity, she broke into a run, heading out of the assembly hall and through the door she had seen open on the way. Whatever was happening, she had to get Kialeth and Peregrine out of there before they got too embroiled in it. The hapless fools._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_Kyral burst into the stables gasping for breath and covered in blood. Granted, most of it wasn't her blood, but it was still rather disgusting having to go round smeared with gore._

_She was distracted, though, by the sudden appearance of a man - an elf - who had been just about to step out of the door. "You aren't an attacker," he realised, stepping towards her. "Oh, my - you're covered in blood! Are you hurt?"_

Oh, great. Another bloody cleric. _"It's not my blood," Kyral replied tartly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some friends to catch up with. If you'll excuse me…" And she made for the door at the other end of the stables._

_The elf, though, caught her arm. "Who are you, if not an enemy?" he asked. "I am Fenthick Moss, priest of Tyr and companion to the Lady Aribeth. You can't be Kialeth, so what might I call you?"_

_"Kialeth?" demanded Kyral, all thoughts of leaving forgotten. "Have you seen her?"_

_"Your name, first."_

_Rolling her eyes and scowling, Kyral answered him. "Kyral Amaline, all right? Now, _where is Kialeth_?!"_

_"She agreed to help Neverwinter recover the Waterdhavian creatures," explained Fenthick, unfazed by her anger, "and left the Academy to find lodgings for the next week. I don't know exactly where she is now, of course, but she is alive and well."_

_Kyral's relief was short-lived, though, as she asked about Peregrine. "Nobody else has come through here. There was a boy, but his name was Pavel and he left to seek refuge elsewhere before I could speak to him," Fenthick sighed. "I don't know any Peregrine."_

_Well, at least he'd tried - more than most other people would have done, admittedly. "Well, thank you for your help," she said briskly, pulling her arm free from his hand. "I suppose I'd better go and catch up with Kialeth - maybe she knows where Peregrine's got to. Goodbye."_

_But Fenthick caught her wrist this time, just as she reached the door. "Neverwinter needs you, Kyral," he began seriously. "Any aid we can find in this dark time is welcome. I was hoping that you might be willing to join us in the mission we are preparing to recover the creatures and save the city."_

_Kyral very nearly agreed there and then… but then she remembered. "Look. I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I can't do anything like that, and I really do have to go now, so-"_

_"I didn't want it to come to this, Kyral," Fenthick interrupted firmly, "but if it comes to it, I will have to conscript you into service, for the good of the city. Your name and face will be posted at every garrison. The city is quarantined; there is nowhere you can run." With every word he said, her eyes grew wider and wider, angrier and angrier, fuller and fuller of hatred. "So, I ask you again - will you help us, or not?"_

_The ranger closed her eyes for a minute. Maybe she could do it. Maybe the pain wouldn't be that great if she just did as she was told… "Well… I suppose I could-" No such luck. The effect was immediate and powerful; pain burst behind her eyeballs, like a fireball exploding in her skull. She gasped in pain, cursing furiously and copiously at the burning agony coursing through her. Fenthick's eyes widened at the incredible language spewing from Kyral's mouth, but he stepped forward to help nonetheless. _

_"What's wrong?" he enquired urgently. "Are you poisoned? Is something the matter?"_

_But Kyral stepped back, gazing at him with fever-bright, hateful dark eyes. "Yes! Yes, something is the matter, but you probably aren't going to help me until I agree to help you out of your little bind, are you?" Ignoring the horrified look on his face, she pressed on, letting rage get the better of her for the first time in a very long while. "I bloody well _told _you I couldn't help, but did you listen? So go ahead. Conscript me, if you're really that intent on watching me die before your eyes!" Enraged beyond reason now, she turned and stormed out of the Academy._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sighing as the rain brought her back to the present, Kyral shook her head and began to make her way in the general direction of the city gate. Hells, if she couldn't get out, she was going to get as close to 'out' as she could. If Fenthick found her, she'd kill him, good and evil be damned.

_You know what? I hate life._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Peregrine slumped, worn out beyond endurance, against the wall. The dead hand of Cara Meyne was still clutched in his own; he refused to let it go, just in case by holding onto her, he could bring her back to life again, or at least keep her warm until somebody else could.

How could this have happened? It had been a merciless attack, and he highly doubted anyone had survived. Kialeth, who had been in the assembly hall, had no doubt been killed in the inevitable confusion the attack would have spawned. Kyral was probably dead, too; cornered on her way out of the Menagerie and killed personally. He was probably the only one who had survived.

And, though he _had _survived, it had been a pretty close call.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_"Come on, then," he grinned at Kialeth as they left the Menagerie and Kyral behind. "Let's get to the assembly hall before the crowds get too big." And, smiling back at him, Kialeth followed him down the corridor, past the training rooms, to the hall._

_"Peregrine!" squealed a girlish, high-pitched voice from behind them. Both Kialeth and Peregrine turned around to see Cara Meyne, the cleric who Kyral had supposedly set toads on that morning. "Come with me a minute," she implored him. "There's something I want to show you upstairs."_

_Helpless, Peregrine glanced at Kialeth, who was obviously thoroughly enjoying the whole thing. "I'll catch you up," he mouthed at her, and as she nodded in agreement he went off after Cara._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_He hadn't realised how beautiful Cara was up until now._

_She was really very attractive in all the ways Kialeth and Kyral both were not; full lips, blue eyes, long blonde hair, decent figure - well, to be fair, Kyral was actually quite well-endowed, but that was beside the point. "How much farther?" he asked, gasping for breath from the long trek up the stairs. "Kialeth will be getting worried about me." _

_"Just a little more," Cara informed him earnestly, carrying on up the stairs. "Not much longer now, I promise."_

_Peregrine had no doubt that the ceremony had started. He would be late - but, for some reason, he didn't care. He was as good as alone with Cara Meyne, the most beautiful girl in the Academy, and that made up for it all. For just a moment, everything was good in the world._

_That, obviously, was when the mages showed up._

_Cara squealed, ducking for cover behind a suit of armour, but the fireball sent in her direction knocked both she and the armour backwards. She struck her blonde head against the stone wall of the stairwell and lay still. Peregrine gave a cry of rage, drawing his handaxe and charging the mage._

_He never stood a chance. One of them struck him in the stomach with his quarterstaff, the other knocked him backwards with a well-placed Ray of Frost to his right shoulder. If he didn't come up with something soon, he was a goner._

_What was it Herban had told him once? "Look, you're a smart kid, it'd be a real shame if you died before your time was up. If all else fails, if all your tricks run out, then just drop down and pretend you're dead. It'll keep you living to see another day, at least." Taking his tutor at his word, Peregrine sank like a stone, giving a rattling fake death moan and closing his eyes._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

He had waited until the mages had gone before sitting up. Cara's clothes were torn, her face was purple with bruising and her eyes were vacant and dead; he didn't want to know what had happened to her before death had come to claim her.

Instead of staying where he was, he had picked her up and made his way up to the corridor above them. There, his legs had given way beneath him. He hurt all over; the blow to his stomach and the frost-burn on his shoulder were both killing, and his body hurt from where he had hit the wall. Tired out and in pain, he closed his eyes and let himself pass out.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: There. That was actually quite a reasonable wait, by my standards. I won't put off any longer: here is chapter one!  
Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights. I own Kialeth, Kyral, Peregrine and a few plot twists. That is _it_. Nothing else.

**Chapter One - in which Kialeth is instated as Official Heroine, Kyral tries (and fails) to stay low, and Peregrine makes an utter fool of himself.**

_Why, _Kialeth asked herself wearily, _did it have to break out in thunderstorms on the one day I actually needed to get halfway across the City Core? _Scowling, she dragged the back of her hand across her eyes to clear away the raindrops and broke into an irritable run in what she hoped was the general direction of the Halls of Justice. If it wasn't… well, she was going to get very wet indeed, and her hair was too long to get wet without tangling. She would be picking knots out of it for weeks afterwards, and with everything that was going on at the minute, she could really do without that kind of hassle.

And no, she would _not _cut her hair. She had been growing it for too long just to lose it with a swish of a knife, and it was one of the few things she actually liked about her appearance; only her eyes could beat it in that regard. But she was wasting time, thinking like this. The Halls of Justice was her priority now, not picking her appearance to pieces with a fine pair of tweezers.

Ever since the Academy had fallen, she had been lodging temporarily in the Trade of Blades, the local mercenary house. It hadn't been ideal, but it had served its purpose - and besides, she hadn't actually had to pay for the room she had borrowed. Instead, she had helped out in the kitchens, preparing food for the mercenaries along with a surly, world-weary cook and a few naïve halfling tavern wenches who managed to look wonderful even despite their lack of height. Kialeth scowled at the memory. _They _had actually had figures; figures which, come to think of it, they probably took completely for granted. Lucky sods.

But, even as she thought disgustedly back to her time as a temporary kitchen assistant, she couldn't help but feel that the future would hold slightly worse trials than sex-deprived warriors (she wasn't even going to _go _there) and well-endowed gossips. What, exactly, had she let herself in for by agreeing to help Fenthick? Come to think of it, why had she agreed to help him in the first place? Heroics were Peregrine's job. She just stood back, kept out of the way and dispensed advice where she thought it might help… and this job was going to involve a whole lot more than prodding people in the right direction.

And what about the killing? Having to end the lives of the mage and the goblins in the Academy had been bad enough, and she seemed to be unaffected by the 'thrill of battle' - what she'd been feeling back in the Academy had not been thrill, it had been abject terror. She could have died! All it would have taken was a well-placed hit with a dagger or a well-timed spell, and _bang! _No more Kialeth. But if this 'mission' was what she thought it was, it was going to mean more killing. More battle. More life-threatening danger. _Nobody _was going to be sympathetic if she told them she just couldn't do it.

Sighing discontentedly, she looked up at the white-marble glory of the Halls of Justice. Fenthick and Desther would be waiting inside - as would some shelter from this weather, but that was beside the point, or at least wasn't quite enough to tempt her inside. Maybe, just maybe, staying in a storm all her life would be preferable to getting roped into this mess.

She could go back to the Trade of Blades. She didn't have to do this any more than she had to do anything; she could lie low until it was all over and then-

Wait. What in the multiverse was she _thinking_!

No. It was the simple truth; she couldn't _not _do this. She couldn't go back to the mercenary house. She couldn't escape this now. She had to do it; never mind her own neck, her damnable conscience wouldn't let her be until she stopped thinking about it and brought everyone else's special protective gear. Resigned, she touched her hand to the rain-dripping door, all but ready to push it open and go to meet her fate.

Just a few more seconds. She just needed a little time to catch her breath, to prepare herself for whatever it was she was about to face.

_So this is it, _she told herself with far, far more bravado than she really felt, trying to inject some confidence into her mental voice. _The end of life as we know it. New start begins here._

And so she pushed open the door, stepped through it out of the rain and let the warmth of the Halls of Justice envelope her - all the while trying to push down the feeling of cold fear over what this _new start _could bring her way.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

At first, as he felt full consciousness finally return to him after days of drifting between wakefulness and sleep, Peregrine refused to open his eyes. He didn't want to be faced with Cara's corpse, with all the dead bodies around him, with the total destruction of everything he had called home. Not yet. He just needed a moment to calm down, to get everything sorted, to think things through…

Who was he kidding? Hating himself for the morbid desire to see what had happened to his home and school, he wrenched his eyelids apart, taking in his surroundings in a single, terrible second.

It was worse than he had imagined it would be. The dead body of Cara Meyne lay beside him, her eyes vacant and empty, her face pale and caked in dried blood. All around him were bones, chunks of flesh, pools of blood - the remains of those murdered by the attackers. On the opposite wall, a painting was aflame, smouldering away into ashes. Peregrine felt a stab of anger at this; that had been his favourite painting.

Well, at least he wasn't hurting so much any more, right? In a last-ditch attempt to be positive, he picked himself up and dusted himself off, letting go of Cara at last. "Tyr protect you," he whispered, blinking back tears of anger and regret as he broke his gaze away from her dead body, and made his way back down the stairs. Hells, if he really was the only one still alive, it was the least he could do to go and find the bodies of Kialeth and Kyral.

As he neared the Assembly Hall, he took a deep breath of air which smelt of dead bodies and smoke and braced himself for the worst. If he didn't do this, he'd never know. He had to look. He had to do it.

But he couldn't.

Snarling, Peregrine slammed his fist into the hard wooden door, feeling his knuckles crack against it and pretending not to care about all the skin he was going to be missing from the back of his hand the next day. Where had he gone wrong? What hadn't he listened to in training that might have made him just a little more suitable for this kind of thing? All right, so he'd daydreamed off a couple of times, but that was only because he already knew how to do the things! His father had taught him! And now he was quite probably the only living being in this dead building, and he couldn't even go to look for his friends. Kyral would have done. Kyral was strong. Kialeth probably would, too, provided she hadn't been caught up in anything else, because she cared about people. She cared about he and Kyral. But he, Peregrine Locke, couldn't do it. It was pathetic.

A sudden twinge in the back of his hand cut his train of thought off, a little too late. He'd thought it now, and his self-esteem was not going to forgive him.

_Oh, forget it. _Detesting his own weakness, Peregrine turned away and made for the exit. Kyral and Kialeth had got out alive. They were strong. They would have made it.

They would have done.

Wouldn't they?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The rain was merciless. No matter how hard Kyral tried to worm herself into a position where she could stay even remotely dry, it refused to recognise her efforts. What she wouldn't give to be able to take off the hood and scarf, wring them out and throw them away was not worth mentioning. She no longer cared about the jolt of pain the offended - offend_ing_? - article of clothing sent down her spine, causing her to gasp aloud at its poisonous sting. For some reason, her apathy didn't startle her. Maybe she was just used to it by now.

Mentally, Kyral kicked herself for thinking that. It was a little frightening, thinking just how long this had been going on for. Not _that _frightening, obviously, just… unnerving. To imagine that the hood had been with her ever since her exile, nearly sixty years ago now - _no, don't think about that, don't think about that. _"It all happened to someone else," whispered Kyral to herself, as she pushed herself a little closer to the bars on the city gate. "It all happened to someone else. It's not my story. It isn't me."

She had to repress a laugh at how she must look. Curled up to the city gates, shivering in the pouring rain, muttering to herself about how something hadn't happened to her. She looked like a madwoman, even in the mental image she painted for herself. _And that assumption really isn't that far off, now is it? _

Oh, this was pointless. Snarling, Kyral righted herself - _damn this accursed rain! - _and wiped raindrops from her eyes, stalking away. Surely fugitives didn't have to live like this all the time. If she pulled the hood down over her eyes a little way, maybe she wouldn't be recognised. Maybe. Distastefully, she took the top of the hood between two fingers and pulled it a little way down, just enough to shade her eyes further. Now, hopefully, she would be able to pick up something to eat. After all, she hadn't eaten since lunch at the Academy yesterday. She was entitled to food, wasn't she?

Probably not, now she thought about it. She was a criminal, after all.

She aimed another mental kick to her shins. _Damn, but the Unwelcome Thoughts section of your brain really is in gear today, _she thought darkly, heading out towards the food cart she knew would be set up in the City Core.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Welcome, Kialeth," beamed Aribeth. "It is good to see you again – I admit I had thought you may have perished in the Academy." The beautiful paladin sighed sadly. "Truly a sad day indeed."

Not really sure how to respond, Kialeth simply nodded awkwardly. Being brought up by farmers really had its drawbacks sometimes.

The silence that fell in the room made both the spellsword and the paladin a little uneasy. Eventually, Aribeth cleared her throat with visible effort. "I will not speak of your mission yet," she began, "as you are the first to arrive, and I wish to address everyone collectively. I would have you know, however, that you are the one on whom my highest hopes rest, Kialeth. You were the only spellsword in the Academy-" _Why, by all the Gods, do people keep rubbing that in!_ – "and a young woman of good and honest character; I firmly believe you will succeed in this task where others have failed."

There was something about this compliment that made Kialeth want to fall into a hole in the ground. _She _was expected to succeed. She, Kialeth, barely out of the Academy, not even a graduated student, was supposed to do something nobody else had actually been able to. Why was she feeling just a little bit pressurised here? But even though she wanted to, she couldn't say no to Lady Aribeth. She could be flayed alive for that. "I'll do my best," she managed eventually, wishing her throat wasn't quite so tight.

Aribeth nodded. "I have no doubt that you will," she agreed seriously, and the heavy, oppressive silence fell on them once again. Kialeth nervously scuffed her boot on the flagstone floor of the temple as time passed by.

Slowly but surely, more and more people began to trickle in, and with them came the natural hubbub as they all chatted to their friends. Most of them, admittedly, were guards and members of the Militia, but at least it was a turnout. Kialeth was feeling more and more out of place as the minutes whiled away. She wasn't a guard – Hells, she wasn't even a soldier. She was just a raw, as yet un-graduated student from a dead training institute – and some of the funny looks being cast her way by some of the male guards were making her feel slightly embarrassed to be there.

An elbow connected gently with her arm. "Hey," whispered one of the guards. "What're you doin' here? You ain't a guard."

"I'm here at Lady Aribeth's request," replied Kialeth tartly. Gods, how snooty did that sound? Even the sound of her voice made the wish for that big black hole intensify too far for her own good. The guard shrugged, obviously disinterested in the dark-haired elf, and turned back to his companions.

Gradually, all the noise died down, and all eyes flickered expectantly to Aribeth. Taking the not-so-subtle hint, she began. "Brave defenders of Neverwinter," she called out in true self-esteem-lifting fashion – some of the guards flushed and shuffled their feet in embarrassment that gave away their secret admiration for Lord Nasher's right hand. "I have gathered you here today that we all might respond to the danger that is threatening our fair city. Now, as we are all here, I believe I shall-"

"Sorry I'm late!" To Kialeth's absolute horror, a mud-covered, dripping wet Peregrine Locke burst into the temple, causing a disgusted hubbub to break out once more among the guards. "Got a bit… caught up in the Academy. Sorry!"

Aribeth gave Peregrine a sympathetic look, before turning the gaze back to Kialeth, who was luminous scarlet with embarrassment. "Kialeth!" yelled Peregrine, pushing through the crowds of huge, burly men to his friend. "You're alive! I thought they killed you!"

"_I'll _be the one killing _you _if you don't shut up," she hissed, pulling him up to her side and treading pointedly on his toe. With one final yelp of pain, Peregrine fell into silence.

"Now, as we are all here," Aribeth continued pointedly, "I believe I shall brief you on our mission.

"The Wailing Death is consuming Neverwinter. These are dark times for our city, and whatever light we had before is now extinguished, with the destruction of the Academy. But all is not yet lost, my friends; four Waterdhavian creatures were brought to Neverwinter by Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun that we might create a cure…"

Kialeth tuned out at this point. She'd heard it all before, in both Academy rumours and in her conversation with Desther and Fenthick. Peregrine, however, was still listening eagerly. _He has the hero syndrome so badly it is unbelievable, _thought Kialeth wryly, wringing out the last few droplets of rain from her black hair and cringing in embarrassment as they fell to the floor with an audible _splat_. Fortunately, Aribeth was so wrapped up in her speech that she didn't notice that one of the listeners was not actually listening.

"…and so it falls to you, all of you, to find information on the locations of these creatures," concluded Aribeth as Kialeth turned her attention back to the speech. "I already have an agent who is to recover these creatures for me, dead or alive; Kialeth, the woman you see here."

_Oh, black hole, where are you when I need you?_

Peregrine stared at Kialeth in wonderment and jealousy. A few wolf-whistles came from the back of the party. All necks craned to get a good look at the future heroine. The aforementioned 'future heroine' simply wanted to crawl into a cave somewhere and die of shame. Aribeth, though, seemed not to notice.

This, Kialeth decided with a definite lack of enthusiasm, was not going to be a good experience.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Yeah?" The sullen-looking human lifted her head with visible reluctance as Kyral, now even with her eyes cast into shadow, approached the food stall. "Wot can I get ya?"

_Oh, please, not another complete idiot. Peregrine was bad enough. _"I need some bread," she stated icily, taking great care to casually tweak her hood just a little lower over her eyes. "I need it fast, and I am willing to pay you for it." Well, all right, she _wasn't _willing to pay for it, but she was going to have to – she was hungry, and even if it took up her last few coins she was going to get something to eat.

With an annoying lack of speed, the human girl dumped a loaf of bread into the elf's arms. "There ya go," she drawled lazily. "Thass twenty gold pieces." And, without so much as a care for the angry glint in Kyral's eyes, she held out an expectant hand to take the money.

_Must… not… kill. Must… not… kill… _"For a loaf of bread? Are you insane?" demanded Kyral.

The girl shrugged nonchalantly. "Thass the price. You still buyin', or not?"

"I refuse to pay that much for a badly-made and probably stale loaf of bloody bread," snarled Kyral, hiding the fact that she didn't actually own twenty gold pieces and never had in her life.

Another shrug, which only served to fuel the hooded elf's anger, came from the human girl – a girl who Kyral was thoroughly enjoying picturing dead. "Then ya don't get the food." She snatched the bread back from her ex-customer, placing it back on the cart. "Thankee. Come again!"

Incredibly close to getting incredibly angry, Kyral leant forward menacingly towards the apathetic stallholder, but the hunger pangs in her stomach reminded her that food was better than blood – at least for the moment. "Forgive me if I don't," she sneered, turning neatly on her heel and striding furiously away. _Twenty gold pieces for a loaf of bread. Hells, are they going to be charging for air next? _Re-adjusting her longbow on her back, she stalked towards a fishmonger's shop she knew was quite nearby. The rain had eased off a little now, thank the Gods, but it was still wet – and so was Kyral. Anywhere inside was welcome.

As she entered the fish shop, the owner – a rotund man with a large moustache – eyed her suspiciously. "Don't I know you?"

"No," she stated flatly. "You don't. I'd like whatever you have that costs less than…" She tailed off as she checked her purse. "That costs less than five gold pieces," she finished with conviction. The fishmonger, though, was still staring at her as if she were about to explode. "Is something the matter?" she demanded.

And then she saw it.

Her stomach lurched; all of a sudden, all thoughts of hunger were completely gone. She had to get out as fast as she could. She wasn't safe.

On the wall, behind the fishmonger, was pinned a huge "WANTED" poster – adorned with a large picture of Kyral herself.

"On second thoughts," Kyral continued hastily, "cancel that. I don't have any money at all – how silly of me. I'll be going now." And, before anyone could catch her, she sprinted from the shop at full speed.

She wasn't safe there. But then again, she wasn't safe _anywhere. _Not anymore.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

A/N: Comments welcome. And I have one question in particular: who is your favourite of the three characters? Or who can you relate to the most? I'm just interested to know. Thanks.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Um... sorry? My only excuse is that the holidays are over and real life has started again... gah. Anyway, I'm sorry there isn't much Peregrine in here, but he gets his moment of stardom next chapter. Honest!  
One more thing: this is going to be the last chapter until December now. NaNoWriMo is coming up, and that will consume both my November and my sanity. So don't wait up for me; I may be some time. If I don't come back, assume the nice men in the white coats shot me full of happy drugs and locked me up in that nice room with the mattresses on the walls, all right?  
Anyway, I won't stall - on with chapter two!

**Chapter Two - in which Kialeth is reminded how disgusting the undead are, Peregrine finally gets a job and Kyral completely misjudges her own greatest weakness**

Kialeth and Peregrine trailed out of the chamber, their eyes lowered and their hearts heavy. Both were still wet, and Peregrine was shamefully leaving muddy footprints all across the glistening marble floors. "So," began Peregrine, trying to force a supportive grin onto his face and winding up with more of a grimace. "You're the hero now, then."

The spellsword nodded her head slightly. "And nobody wishes otherwise more than I do. Trust me."

A cold, oppressive silence fell between them. Peregrine still couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Being told Kialeth was to become a hero was bad enough, but having her stamp on his foot, threaten to _kill _him when he'd tried to hug her? He'd thought she was dead, damn it all! Had she already become so elevated from the common folk that she couldn't bear to be around him anymore? Did all their years as friends together count for nothing now?

Peregrine loved Kialeth. Not romantically, definitely not romantically, but as the best friend he'd ever had… and that was still quite a special relationship, even when placed at the side of true love. Now, to have her push him away when he tried to confirm that relationship, he really had no idea where they stood.

"Peregrine?"

The fighter looked down; Kialeth was standing there, looking anxiously up at him. "Yes, Kialeth?" he asked her stiffly. "What is it?"

In response, she flung her arms tight around him, nearly crushing all the air from his lungs. Caught completely unawares, Peregrine choked and spluttered for a long moment, before finally returning the hug.

Everything was all right. Kialeth was still Kialeth. She hadn't been replaced by a high-and-mighty heroic adventuress… well, not _yet, _anyway. "Sorry," she whispered in his ear. "I wasn't expecting to see you, and we were in company… no, forget I said anything. I don't have any excuses this time. I shouldn't have been so heartless."

Peregrine repressed a grin. "It's all right. It didn't matter that much; I forgive you."

They broke apart, though, as Fenthick rushed up towards them. "Ah, the address is over," he observed breathlessly. "Forgive me for my haste, but I have somewhere to be very shortly. I just received a visit from a fishmonger; he has seen-" The cleric seemed to hesitate for a fragment of a second. "Someone I am looking for," he concluded briskly. "Kialeth, I believe you are free to begin your investigations; Lady Aribeth will answer any questions you might have before you leave, and I also think she has some gold to offer you to sustain yourself."

"Oh," Kialeth replied; Peregrine could feel the reluctance she was exuding as she spoke. "I suppose I should speak with her, then. Goodbye, Peregrine… I'll see you when this is done."

"Good luck," he called after her as she disappeared into the main temple.

_Poor Kialeth, _he thought to himself as Fenthick began to speak to him. _She doesn't even _want _to be a hero! Hey - why don't I go and talk to Aribeth, see if I can help her out? I've always wanted to be an adventurer, fight evil monsters, slay the wicked-_

"Peregrine? Are you listening to me?"

The balding man standing behind Fenthick gave a whip-crack of laughter. "You see, Fenthick? Aribeth is blind, putting her faith in whelps like this! Neverwinter would fare much better for being placed in the hands of my Helmites!"

Unable to contain himself, Peregrine lashed out. "Hey! I'm as capable as anyone around here!"

"Oh, do listen to this, Fenthick," sneered the Helmite man. "A raw recruit, from a training institute that no longer exists, is telling me he is as capable as Lady Aribeth!"

Peregrine bit his lip. "Wait - I didn't say that…" He trailed off as he realised exactly what he had told the Helmite man, blushing furiously at his mistake.

Fenthick decided to take over once again. "We are honestly not sure what to do with you, Peregrine. It was unexpected that anyone besides those I saw out - Kialeth among them - would have survived the attack on the Academy. However, I have considered the situation, and I believe it would be best if you were to be signed to the Neverwinter Militia."

The warrior's heart leapt. "You mean I get to do something useful?"

Laughing, Fenthick nodded. "Yes. You get to do something useful. Now, go along to the gates at Blacklake; a guard was lost there last week. The gate captain will give you your uniform and your instructions. Is this clear to you?"

"Clear as day!" grinned Peregrine, still unable to believe his luck… and not really seeming to mind about the mention of the lost guard.

Fenthick smiled warmly at him. "Then go with the blessing of Tyr upon you."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The refugee shelter, built into the city walls, was utterly deserted. Kyral couldn't help but think that the refugees that had been staying there were probably all dead, whether from the plague or from trying to break quarantine and make a run for it. Either way, she didn't particularly care; the less people were there, the less people there would be to give up her location when the guards came to call for her. Even if there had been people in there, she'd have probably wound up killing them in the end.

As well as being empty, though, it was also cold. She gave an involuntary shiver, pulling one of the blankets from the bedroll next to her and wrapping it tight around her shoulders. The wind was howling like a thing possessed outside, beating its fists against the flimsy wooden door. Hard as she had tried, Kyral had found no means to lock or bar it from the inside; to make up for it, she had pushed a chest up against it. If it moved, she'd know she had to get out of sight.

These circumstances were _not _the circumstances she'd thought she would wind up in after leaving the Academy. She'd considered maybe going to a mage out of Neverwinter, to see what could be done about the hood, and maybe even taking it off altogether and seeing what happened, but not this. Her family were the criminals, not her. Her family were the ones who went out pouring arrow after arrow into humans simply going about their lives.

But then, when she thought about it, she had been there once upon a time. Ha! Once upon a time… that made it sound like some flowery, cheerful fairy tale.

The reality of her tale, though, was far from a fairy-story.

_"Move it, Kyral!" yelled the honey-blonde elf on the coal-black horse before her. "Do you want to lose them?!"_

_Ahead of her, two humans were fleeing the horses in a stumbling run; a father and daughter. The young Kyral spurred her pony on, feeling the wind blow back her dark hair as they charged against its force. The blonde elf, Kyral's sister, lifted her hands from the reins, taking deadly accurate aim with her bow. It was a skill Kyral never ceased to marvel at; she was in no doubt that she would never be able to fire from horseback as well as Gaia could._

_As the human man knocked his foot against a tree root, falling to the ground, Gaia loosed her arrow; it found its mark in his chest, and his life's blood drained away onto the ground._

_The girl screamed, but continued to run, perhaps with even more frantic speed than before. "You take this one, _elle seler_!" called Gaia from the forefront of the party. "See if you can get her in one!"_

_Drawing in a deep breath, Kyral pulled her bow from her back, wobbling precariously on the pony's back. Lifting the bow, she took careful aim, gritting her teeth tight shut. 'See if you can get her in one,' when spoken by Gaia Amaline meant 'If you don't get her in one, I will make your life living hell for the rest of the week at least.' She had to hit this girl. She had to._

_Squinting against the bright light of the sun, she loosed the arrow._

_The girl collapsed to the floor, the shaft of the feathered projectile protruding from her side._

_With a shriek of triumph, Gaia pulled her horse back and emptied arrow after arrow into the girl's prone body. Kyral stared, part-awed and part-horrified, as her sister finally slung her longbow back over her shoulder and rode off._

_Shaking violently, she stepped down from her horse's back, gazing down at the human. She was a girl just Kyral's age - or she would have been Kyral's age, had she been an elf rather than a human - with a tanned, freckled face and a pained grimace on her lips._

_She met Kyral's eyes… and for a second, Kyral felt as if she had been ripped from her body and hung from the skies. Her soul was burning with unbelievable guilt, her mind was exploding with the memories of all the others whose lives she had knocked from their bodies with her bow and her arrows. This girl was dragging everything back, making everything she had never cared about suddenly matter more than everything she ever had._

_And then, amid the ghastly silence that was the forest, the girl closed her eyes. She did not reopen them._

I have just killed this girl, _thought Kyral._

_She tried to close her eyes, but the image of those desperate last moments was burned onto her retinas. The struggle to survive, the hopeless, futile fight to cling onto life… it was all there, and she would never be able to forget it._

_Fear suddenly surging through her like a lightning bolt, Kyral Amaline scrambled back up onto her pony and urged it on at a gallop towards home._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Kialeth, might I ask you something?"

Kialeth lifted her head to meet the eyes of Daelan Red Tiger, her new half-Orc companion, inwardly grumbling at the incredible distance she had to lift her head. "Go ahead," she smiled, trying not to let her vertically-challenged irritation show through.

"Aribeth suggested to visit the Peninsula first, did she not?" enquired Daelan, quite correctly. "Why did you decide on visiting the Beggar's Nest instead?"

Well, it was a perfectly reasonable question, wasn't it? "Because," began Kialeth, "I don't feel prepared to take on a battalion of escaped prisoners, all trying to kill anything that moves just for the fun of it, just yet."

Daelan nodded slowly, as if trying to comprehend what she had said. "So… you brought us out into a nest of zombies instead?"

She had to admit, that was also quite a valid point. "I didn't think there would be quite so many of them," she confessed, shrugging her shoulders lightly and continuing at a steady pace through the poor district of Neverwinter.

The half-Orc stared with increased concern at his new ally. Spellsword she might be - and he was in no doubt whatsoever that her area of skill was the only reason Aribeth had assigned her to this mission - but she obviously had no clue whatever when it came to adventuring. Generally, taking help where you could get it was a good idea. Flagrantly disregarding orders and gallivanting off into a completely different locale was not.

Sighing heavily, he followed Kialeth into the central square of the Beggar's Nest. This, if they both actually managed to survive it, was going to be a very long day indeed.

"More undead bastards!" yelled a rough, furious, male voice, making both Kialeth and Daelan nearly jump out of their skins. "Take that! And _that_! Destroy my wagon, will you? I'll show you destruction-"

Just as Daelan had reached up for his axe, Kialeth cut the halfling man off mid-sentence. "We aren't zombies," she stated, trying to resist the urge to point out that he was missing she and Daelan completely and victimising the air instead.

A woman standing beside the little halfling stepped forward, smiling wearily up at Kialeth. "Yes, dear, I think he knows that really. Aldo has been somewhat out-of-sorts, what with being stranded in the city." On this note, she turned to face her husband. "New life, you said. Move to the big city, you said!"

"Yes, yes, all right!" exclaimed Aldo in frustration. "So I made a mistake! Do you really have to harp on it every two seconds, you… _harpy_!"

"You were stranded in the city?" interrupted Kialeth as politely as she could, trying to break up the argument before it picked up steam. It was an art she had managed to perfect during her time with Kyral and Peregrine… oh, Gods, she shouldn't have let herself think that. Kyral. Where was Kyral? Was she even alive? Had she been destroyed with the Academy?

"Aye," sighed the halfling woman before Kialeth's train of thought could go any further. "We _would _be able to get out of this hellhole, though, if Aldo were not insisting we wait for this spare wagon part."

Aldo was spitting like an angry cat by now. "I refuse to leave this wagon behind! It was my father's possession and he left it in his will to _me_! It isn't my fault that incompetent Hector isn't back yet!"

Daelan had to fight very, very hard not to yell out loud when Kialeth suggested lightly, "Maybe we could help?"

"Hmph." Aldo shrugged disdainfully. "If you like. He's a big oaf, Orc blood in him, and he's looking for a wagon wheel. You're a local girl, you must know your way around the district. Do what you can, but I doubt it'll be enough."

As Kialeth and Daelan walked away, Daelan hissed in her ear. "We are here on a mission for Lady Aribeth!" he admonished her. "We cannot afford to waste time on menial tasks such as this!"

"They _needed _our help!" she objected, stopping in her tracks. "They could be killed by the zombies, or by the plague, if they stay out in the streets! The least we can do is get their wagon repaired so they can take it to the Core and find a safe place-"

"Are you willing to sacrifice the lives of thousands of others for theirs?"

"It won't take long! I know the Beggar's Nest; I know where Hector could be-"

"You are still diverting our attentions away from our goal!"

"Oh, this is _rich_, Daelan! You preach to me in the Trade of Blades all about your so-called righteous honour, and now-"

"You have no idea what you are doing here, do you?" His voice was loud and thunderous; the comment on his honour had been a jab below the belt. "You flagrantly disregard help from your lawful superior, you go in completely the opposite direction to all the signposts, and then you attempt to disregard your mission in the same way!"

"I am not disregarding-"

"Yes, you-"

The sound of rotting flesh thudding onto the cobblestones silenced both of them. Both Kialeth and Daelan turned slowly around… to see ten zombies converging on them from all sides, all at once.

Neither wasted a second. Daelan charged headlong into the fray with an earth-shaking yell of "For the Uthgardt!" with his axe glinting in the evening light. Behind him, Kialeth freed her rapier in a flash of metal, sending a globe of blue magical energy down the blade. A magic missile shot out from the end of the sword, knocking one of the undead to the ground and tossing another back against the wall of the building. The spellsword distantly heard the sound of flesh being cut and she knew that her comrade must be winning his battle.

As the zombies neared her, she sent one final spell from the outstretched palm of her right hand; an iridescent burst of colours, which successfully dazed one of the three undead remaining before her. But even as the creature began to spin groggily on the spot, another of them had managed to get too close. The kick it delivered to her gut was far more powerful than she would ever have given it credit for; she doubled over, coughing violently, her head spinning like a top.

Desperately, she swung her rapier around before her; its obsidian blade cut through the offending zombie with relative ease. There was still one more, though, and she lacked the strength and presence of will to even try and beat it off.

Daelan had been right. She had no idea what she was doing.

What had Aribeth been thinking, giving a raw recruit such a vital mission?

The stench of death was overpowering her…

She had no idea whether it was fear, self-doubt or the stink of the rotting corpses all around her that caused it. As Daelan's axe sliced through the last zombie, Kialeth fell to her knees and brought back the contents of her stomach onto the cobbled streets of the Beggar's Nest.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Gulnan's here, isn't she?" whispered Kialeth, as she and Daelan hovered outside the door. Not needing an answer, she ploughed on. "Gulnan and her undead minions."

The half-Orc nodded. "Are we prepared for this, Kialeth?"

Biting her bottom lip, Kialeth tried to recall everything that had happened to them in the Warrens of the Damned. There had been all the fear spells - she'd forgotten to put on her protective amulet, and had been sent fleeing from the battle by a mummy while Daelan had to fight on his own - and the negative energy rays - Daelan had taken one of them to his right shoulder in a fight with zombies, and hadn't been able to lift one end of his axe - but other than that, she couldn't seem to recall anything she had too much cause to be afraid of. "I think so," she confirmed eventually, hastily slipping on the amulet she had forgotten before. "Just duck if any negative energy rays come your way."

He stared at her for a long moment before catching the tiny half-smile on her lips. "I will," he agreed, letting the hint of a smile slip onto his face in return.

"Ready to go?" she asked him lightly. Too lightly. He could sense the nervousness in her voice.

He nodded firmly in an attempt to reassure her. "Yes. Come, let us have this done with and return to Aribeth in honour and glory."

And, with a noise of effort, Kialeth slammed her body against the door.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

A loud bang on the door to the refugee shelter roused Kyral from her memories. The chest she had deployed shifted forward an inch or so from the impact of the blow. "In the name of Lord Nasher and Lady Aribeth," barked an unfamiliar male voice, "open this door. We have orders to search the premises."

_Oh, bugger, _thought Kyral.

She remained silent, but she knew that whatever she did would be futile. There was no way out of here but the front door, nowhere to hide where she wouldn't be noticeable; it had been a bad choice of hideout, in retrospect. And maybe the stunt with the chest hadn't been such a good idea. Now the guards would know there was someone behind the door trying to keep them out… _damn_! How had she managed to mess this up so badly!

Well, if everything she did would be futile, she could at least get a few kicks before being dragged off and slowly killed, couldn't she? "_Nadorhuanrim_!" she screamed. "_Amin feuya ten' lle! Lasta lalaithamin! Auta miqula orqu! Dolle naa lost! Nadorhuanrim! Nadorhuanrim!"_

The door burst open with a loud crash as it collided with the wall. Fenthick stood at the forefront of a party of ten or so guards, looking ever-so-slightly scandalised at all the insults Kyral had just spewed at him but still managing to cling to a modicum of command. "Drop your weapon," he commanded as Kyral drew her longbow. When the bow remained in her hands, he repeated the statement. "Drop your weapon and come towards us, and no harm will come to you."

"You want a bet?" snarled Kyral, still not moving from her position. She wished she hadn't exhausted her repertoire of elven cursing so completely, but time away from her family's homeland had left her out-of-practise with her mother tongue. Nonetheless, she could definitely think of a few choice insults she'd like to hurl at Fenthick Moss.

Fenthick's face creased in confusion. "Kyral, what do you-"

"Can we arrest her yet, sir?" interrupted one of the half-Orc guards standing close behind Fenthick.

Sighing, Fenthick brought his mind back on track. "Please, just drop your bow and come quietly. You are outnumbered and I do not wish to harm you any more than I have to."

He was right, Kyral realised. She was completely and utterly helpless… not a state she was particularly accustomed to being in. She didn't have a choice. Maybe, if she just went quietly, the pain wouldn't last. Maybe.

Carefully, she took a single step forward.

Pain not unlike a dizzying blow to the head crashed down upon her, making her head spin and her entire body clench in an attempt to remain strong. She just needed to wait a moment, that was all, and then she'd be able to keep walking. The pain would fade, and she'd be able to take another step, and then another…

_But the pain hasn't faded._

No. No, it was just her imagination. It had to be. Of course she didn't want to submit willingly; she wasn't a submitting person, so her mind was making up excuses for her. This wasn't real pain. This couldn't be real pain. Her entire body shaking, she took another step towards Fenthick and the guards.

Her foot had barely touched the floor before it began again, amplified a thousand times over and then added to what she was already feeling. A scream was dragged from her throat and she collapsed to the floor. The last thing she saw before unconsciousness let her slip into its blissful embrace was Fenthick, kneeling by her side…


	4. Chapter 3

_Um. Yes. Hello! Sorry about the long wait - NaNoWriMo (which I won, if anyone's interested!) school, Doctor Who and editing stole me for five months. But I'm back now. Honest!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but Kialeth, Kyral and Peregrine. Everything else is Bioware's - I'm just borrowing their toys, and I promise to put them back when I'm done._

* * *

**Chapter Three - in which Peregrine makes a new friend, Kyral has a near-death experience, and Kialeth comes face-to-face with her own mortality.**

"I can't understand it." Fenthick gazed down at the unconscious Kyral lying on his bed. "It's as if she's been hit by a poison dart… but there was nobody who could have thrown one at her, and I highly doubt she would have stabbed herself."

"There are no puncture marks, either," added the cleric standing beside him. "No, this is something else. Something…" He narrowed his eyes towards the comatose elf. "…altogether different."

Kyral looked terrible. What was visible of her face, between the hood and the scarf, was sickly pale and beaded with sweat. Even in unconsciousness, her body seemed to be tensed, as if it were about to spring up and attack him… or snap in half, if he dropped it. The lines of her mouth, seen through the scarf, were parted, as if she were gasping for breath. Was the scarf suffocating her? Much as Fenthick wanted to remove it, along with the hood, he was reluctant to try until he knew exactly what purpose it served.

And it served a purpose. He knew that much. She hadn't removed that hood even after leaving the Academy… and what was more, it seemed to radiate a kind of sinister, dark magic. He had not been a priest for so long that he didn't know how to detect evil when it approached him. Something was very wrong with that thing - he only wished he knew what it was.

Night was falling outside. The streets were still wet with the thunderstorms of that morning, and the winds still hadn't died down; he could hear them howling outside. Fenthick felt a surge of pity for poor Kialeth, on her way through Blacklake in this weather. She was only a raw student, the poor girl; this must be a huge shock to her system. But surely she would be proud - she was doing all this to save the city, after all. That would soften the blow a little; heroism always did.

But Kialeth was not his concern now; Kyral was, and he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be doing. That wasn't new - not with the plague - but still. At least then he knew to keep them in the sanatorium and try to make them as comfortable as he could in the last days of their lives. But this… he was out of his depth, and he knew it.

"What do you think we should do?" asked the cleric, who was now bent over Kyral and examining the hood and scarf intently. "Should we try to take it off?"

But the moment his fingers tried to pluck at the fabric of the hood covering her hair, Kyral seemed to convulse in pain, as if… well, as if a wave of poison had just been sent through her body.

And all of a sudden, everything fell into place. That was it! The hood was sending poison into her body whenever she did something that would set it off - he hadn't figured out what yet - and she'd been doing it so often that the poison had built up in her body. That was all it was - and there was a simple way to stop it happening. All Fenthick had to do was take off the hood.

"Yes," he stated, unable to contain his smile. "Yes, I think we should."

The cleric looked him up and down, looking slightly nervous. "Are you sure, sir?" he asked urgently. "If we do this wrong, then-"

"I've worked it out!" exclaimed Fenthick, only a little anger in his voice. "I know what I'm doing now. We need to take off the hood, and possibly give her a dose of antidote and a little time to get the poison out of her system."

"It is poison, then?"

"Undoubtedly."

He nodded, with obvious reluctance. "Very well. Do you want to remove the hood, or shall I?"

"I will," answered Fenthick, stepping forward and touching the hood lightly with the tips of his fingers. Even at that feather-light touch, Kyral shuddered violently, her closed eyes scrunching up in pain. He had to act now. He couldn't cause her any more pain than she had already had to go through for him. Gritting his teeth, he lifted away the hood and pulled away the scarf, dropping them on the floor at his feet. Lank, curly red hair cascaded down onto the pillow around her head, finally free of the hood after Tyr only knew how long.

Kyral's eyes snapped open, as if he had just poured a bucketful of freezing water over her head. But there was no anger in her eyes; only terror. Pure, mindless, animal fear that stopped Fenthick in his tracks and gripped his gaze in iron fists.

It couldn't have gone wrong. It couldn't have.

"Don't worry," whispered Fenthick, stroking her hair gently with one hand. "It will all be over soon."

But as soon as he had finished speaking, Kyral had slipped back into unconsciousness again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_The oppressive silence was broken only by her muffled sobs as the woman she had once called her mother dragged her through the dark corridors of the Amaline mansion. She left a trail of blood in her wake - blood from the lashes that had as good as ripped her back apart, blood from the arrows that had killed so many of the innocents she had come to call her family. That was the story of her life, she thought weakly through her grief and agony. Everywhere she went, she left a trail of blood behind her. _

Pain coursed through her like lightning as her twisted leg was jolted over a misplaced stone; she gave a loud whimper that provoked a kick to the side from her sister, tall and proud, walking beside her. "Keep silent, you little whore!" hissed Gaia. With her beautiful blonde hair and dark eyes, she looked like the angel of death. "Your father does not take kindly to weakness, brat, and you have displayed too much already."

Her mother dropped her to the ground suddenly, and she knew they must have reached her father's rooms. Her father. The man she had never seen, the man the entire family held in such high esteem that only his wife was allowed to disturb him. She was being taken to her father.

She was going to die.

All the useless servants that had grown too old to serve any further were brought by her mother to her father's rooms. They didn't come back. She, youngest daughter of the Amaline family, was going to be sacrificed like an aging servant. That was her fate… and a part of her welcomed it. Death had to be preferable to this agony.

Distantly, she heard her mother knock on the door. Blood was trickling into her eyes from the cut on her forehead, and she could barely see the flagstones she had been pulled across any longer. And as the door creaked open, and her arms were grabbed once again, she accepted it. She was going to die, and she was going to be happy.

Because whatever lay beyond life, it couldn't be any worse than this tainted, messed-up world she had been born into.

She felt herself hit the ground at his feet, vaguely heard her mother saying something. Heavy footsteps thudded on the floor as the man who must be her father walked over to the other side of the room and then came back. She tried to lift her head, see what it was he was holding, but a foot connected with her side once again and she fell back, choking back a cry.

But then hands grabbed at her arms, pulling her upright into a kneeling position. And she was staring into the face of her father.

"You say that if we take it off, it will poison her?" asked her mother calmly, as if she were discussing nothing more important than the weather. "That she will suffer?"

The man towering over her nodded sharply. "And if we put it back on again, the poison will stop taking effect. I think there is fun to be had here…"

Behind her, she heard Gaia step backwards and close the door. She was trapped.

She barely noticed as her father strode across the room, towards what looked like an incredibly long weapon rack. She was too busy trying to pull free of her mother's hands, because she could see what was coming. They weren't going to kill her - they were going to torture her first. How could she have not suspected that? It should have been so obvious! But she was too weak, too badly hurt - and besides, her mother's knee slamming into her back was enough to put a stop to any struggling.

Her father returned to her side, holding what looked like a dark-blue scarf and a very strange black hood. "And now, my daughter," he hissed as he wrapped the scarf across her mouth, smirking slightly as the tingling sensation of the magical energy made her flinch away, "you will find out what we do to traitors in the Amaline family."

And, as her mother lifted her red hair up from the back of her neck, he put on the hood.

Days went by - or maybe it was even weeks. She began to lose track of time; more so with every new torture device they experimented with. There had been whips, salt rubbed into wounds, spells, chains, and she was currently bound into a metal corset that was digging into her skin and crushing her ribs and spine. But she knew that was nothing, compared to what she would no doubt be facing soon. She'd watched her mother and sister torture enough people to know that.

And then, another day-week-lifetime later, when she felt she'd die if she suffered any more, her father dragged her up to his throne and took off the hood.

For a moment, he did look like a real father - or what the fathers from the village had all looked like, anyway. He looked almost caring as he smiled and stared deep into her terrified eyes. "Don't worry," he soothed her, stroking her curly hair. "It will all be over soon."

And pain coursed through her like an electric jolt, and she was burning, writhing, screaming on the floor, and all she knew was that this was the end.

Kyral Amaline was dying.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

This, thought Peregrine, was _boring_.

He was standing near the entrance to the nobles' quarter of Blacklake, on the very edges of the slums. His morningstar and shield were both ready for attack, but nothing had happened. In the hours that had passed since he had been posted here, nobody had tried to attack. And he, Peregrine Locke, was simply bored out of his brains. What was the point of being a guard if all you did was stand around and do nothing? He could just imagine what Kialeth was doing now; smiting evil, slaying the wicked, saving the city… and she didn't even want to. It wasn't fair.

He'd arrived in Blacklake, escorted through the slums by a guard posted to the main gate to the district, and been greeted by the gate captain; a tall half-elf named Temar. He'd been assigned his position and told to wait until an attack came. And that had been it. Nothing else. Nothing interesting. Just waiting. He could do that in the Academy library, for Kyral and Kialeth when they were late getting out of classes.

Wistfully, he remembered the time Kialeth hadn't turned up at their mid-morning break. He and Kyral had both left their classes exactly on time, heading across the Academy to the library and sitting down in the armchairs to wait, but Kialeth had not joined them. After five minutes, Peregrine had started to get worried, proving his utter incapability to wait for anything, and as he had offered up several theories to Kyral, each one more surreal than the next, she had rolled her eyes and replied with her own set of theories, rather violent and utterly unbelievable. They had just finished debating whether or not Diadan would eat Kialeth and replace her with a magically created doppelganger, when the supposed mid-morning snack had wandered into the room with a bandage around her left hand. It had been nothing more than a bad accident with a fire spell that had needed treating, followed up by a severe telling-off from Diadan, and as Peregrine and Kyral related their thoughts on her fate to Kialeth herself, the three of them had laughed and laughed at their own silliness…

Oh, what he wouldn't give.

This was nowhere near the visions he had had of being a guard. He'd always imagined… well… actual combat. The thrill of battle, against deadly foes trying to bring Neverwinter to the ground and burn the remains. Excitement. Not attempting to combat deadly boredom trying to send him to sleep. Why couldn't something just attack?! Were the great evils of the city all on holiday or something?

Crunch.

Apparently not.

Peregrine swallowed hard, readying his morningstar, as a gaggle of gaunt, skeletal figures rounded the corner. As they began to gain, he realised that their faces were covered in black boils. Plague boils, he realised with a shudder of revulsion and terror. They were all infected.

And they'd infect him, too, if they got their hands on him. And much as he wanted a bit of excitement - well, he was too young to die, wasn't he?

"All right," he began, talking more to himself than to the advancing bandits, lifting his shield up to protect himself. "We can talk about this. Let's just step back and think about what we're doing, here." Oh, Gods, it wasn't working, they were still coming… "What's the point of this violence? Come on. Let's talk. We can talk, can't we?" No, obviously not; they were still ambling towards him, slowly but surely, bits of broken wood in their skeletal, boil-blackened hands… "Please!" His voice was growing more frantic. "Please, just put the wood down and-"

Before he could get another word out, a red and blue blur had run out from behind him, a heavy mace in her hand. "Come on!" the blur - a female blur, judging by the voice - yelled at him as she threw herself into the fight, moving with deadly precision and startling speed.

Peregrine needed no further encouragement; lifting his new military-issue morningstar ready for battle, he ran after his nameless rescuer, clinging onto everything he'd ever learned in the Academy by the skin of his teeth. But he didn't need to concentrate too hard; she was a better fighter than he would ever be, and it wasn't long before most of the plague-carriers were on the ground, either dead or mortally wounded. Instead, he focused his spare energy on sneaking sidelong glances at the young woman he was fighting alongside.

Her hair was the first thing he noticed, when he looked for the first time; it was a brilliant, almost luminous red, and cut in such a way that the ends were slightly spiked. On his second look, his eye was drawn down to her armour; it was a guard's uniform, which was unsurprising. The nobles didn't generally go round wielding maces, and only a guard or a noble could have come from back there. But after that, the battle was over and done with, and he found himself staring up into her face.

"You all right?" she asked, out of breath from the fight. At least she still looked vaguely normal, Peregrine thought to himself. When he was out of breath, his head turned a vibrant shade of tomato red. And, as he heard his wearied gasps alongside hers, he realised that he was rather out of breath himself. Oh dear, he thought, resisting the urge to cringe and run for it.

"Yes," he confirmed instead, grinning at her warmly and hoping he didn't look as much like a tomato with teeth as he thought he did. "I'm Peregrine - Peregrine Locke. It's my first day on duty."

She nodded sympathetically. "I know the feeling. My name's Vissea Meladri, and I got stuck here with this bloody stupid quarantine." Vissea rolled her eyes - dark eyes, with flecks of lighter brown - and Peregrine found himself doing the same, out of agreement. "Figured I might as well make myself useful, so… here I am."

Peregrine nodded slowly, understanding. "That sounds fair enough."

Vissea grinned, giving Peregrine another perfect opportunity to stare at her. She had quite big, round green eyes, and a nose that turned up a little at the end. Her mouth was wide and friendly, and there was a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. She was rather pretty, he thought, in a lanky, freckly sort of way. "So, how come you're here? One of the Academy survivors, were you?"

"How do you know about the Academy?" demanded Peregrine, but all he got in return was another roll of those lovely eyes.

"Everyone knows about the Academy. I was on duty in the Beggar's Nest when the buggers burned it down, you know." A look of sadness passed across Vissea's face. "It was awful. We didn't see who attacked and we got there too late to stop it. As if the plague wasn't enough for this city."

There was a mournful quiet for a moment, with both Peregrine and Vissea standing silently over the corpses of the plague-maddened bandits. But then, a few seconds later, Vissea nearly jumped out of her skin, causing Peregrine to do much the same. "Gods damn it! It's nearly sundown! I'm supposed to be over in the Peninsula by now!"

"Oh." Peregrine couldn't help but feel disappointed. "Can I, um, see you again later?"

Vissea nodded again. "Course you can! How about we meet up in the Trade of Blades at the end of next shift?"

It was all Peregrine could do to stop grinning like an idiot and nod.

"See you later, then," called Vissea as she set off at a run towards the entrance to the Core. But Peregrine barely heard, and he didn't care what it was she'd said.

He was in love!

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

There were many things about this situation, Kialeth thought, that were not good.

The first thing was that her hands and lower arms still stank of Yuan-Ti innards. In an attempt to make up to Daelan for being idiotic enough to go to the Beggar's Nest instead of the Peninsula, she had offered to retrieve Gulnan's heart. Unfortunately, Yuan-Ti anatomy was somewhat different to what Kialeth was used to - she was sure she'd read it in the library somewhere, and couldn't fathom why she'd forgotten - and so she had wound up burying around in the necromancer's chest for a good five minutes, while Daelan tried to repress a smirk in the background. And then there was the zombie ichor that had managed to splatter into her hair when she'd decapitated one of the undead in Gulnan's chamber. She had a serious feeling that it wouldn't wash out too easily, and she also had an inkling that she wasn't going to be getting a bath any time soon.

Disgusting as that was, however, it was closely followed by the fact that they were now in the Peninsula - in another attempt by Kialeth to prove to Daelan that she wasn't quite a hopeless case - and she was trying not to cultivate a limp from where a heavy-set escapee had kicked her in the shin. She had blasted him with a fire spell from her rapier straight afterwards, but that was beside the point; it bloody hurt. Maybe Kyral had been right; maybe she did need to invest in some padding on the inside of her leggings. Or maybe she just needed to give up magic and put on a full plate… but no, on second thoughts, the thought of herself in clattering, heavy full plate made her feel slightly weak at the knees.

And that led her on to point number three: where, by all the Gods, was Kyral?! She'd been all over the Beggar's Nest, and halfway around the Peninsula… Gods damn it, she'd even checked in with Sedos Sebile, but she'd only received an "Oh, you're looking for her too, are you?" for her troubles. She was worried, and she knew Daelan could see it. This whole affair had lost its thrill now, if it had ever had any to begin with. All she wanted was the Academy library; a good book, a hot drink, and a blazing fire. And a good bath.

But that wasn't going to happen any time soon, because she was now in the prison and the only bath she was getting was one of blood.

"Right," she began quietly to Daelan, right before he pushed her back into an alcove in the wall, pressing a thick finger to his lips in a signal for quiet. She tried to peer around into the corridor as he removed his hand from her shoulder, a little unnerved by the sudden alert and the proximity of their two bodies. In reply, her companion gestured discreetly outwards.

A scrawny, dagger-wielding convict was walking slowly by. If it wasn't for the alcove, they would probably have been seen.

Kialeth nodded weakly, suddenly feeling a little sick to her stomach.

Had she seen him beforehand, she would have taken a shot at an invisibility spell, but it would be too loud and too noticeable - nobody, however criminal, would just walk past a magical lightshow happening right beside them. But there was nothing she could do, no way she could hide either of them. Nothing she could do but wait it out in breathless, fearful silence.

Daelan whispered, very softly, "If we ambush him, do you think he'll call for help?"

Kialeth didn't particularly want to think about it.

"Maybe not," she breathed, not daring to raise her voice to any higher volume, "if we get him down quickly. Or just go for the throat."

The barbarian nodded firmly. "Right. On three, we'll charge him; take him out quickly, and we'll go from there."

Kialeth felt her insides lurch. Zombies were one thing - they were already dead, weren't they? - but killing a real, living person… even if that person would probably kill her without a second thought given half a chance… She couldn't do it. Surely there was another way around it, something that didn't involve this, but whatever they chose to do it couldn't be this. Not killing.

"All right," was what she said out loud.

"One…" Oh Gods, he was actually going to go through with it. "Two…" His voice scraped her eardrums, almost stinging with the intent that was there. She couldn't do this. She couldn't, oh Gods she couldn't do it, she couldn't-

"Three!"

And then she was running out into the corridor, unsheathing her rapier as Daelan slammed the convict up against the wall, and then before she even knew what she was doing, her blade was at his stomach and there was blood spreading out into the rags he called clothes, and his eyes were bulging, and-

Daelan stepped back. She pulled the rapier out of his gut, watching with horrified eyes as he crumpled to the ground and lay perfectly still. Deathly still. He wasn't breathing.

She didn't feel like she could move. All of a sudden, the moment was playing in slow motion in her head; the crunch as he had smashed up against the wall, the unexpected lack of resistance as the tip of the blade began to dig into his stomach, the way his eyes had bulged in terror as he realised what had happened, realised that he was going to die…

But Daelan grabbed her hand, pulling her along down the corridor. "We have to keep moving," he hissed. "If they find his body, more of them will come. We need to get to the lower level now."

Kialeth barely heard him. "Daelan, I killed him," she whispered. She could hear - no, not just hear, she could feel the tremors in her own voice. "I killed him. He wasn't even attacking us and now he's dead, I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have done it. Oh, Gods, I killed him-"

She was cut off mid-sentence by Daelan, taking hold of her shoulders firmly in his huge hands. "He wasn't attacking us," he agreed quietly, "but he would have done, had we not attacked him first. You did the right thing, Kialeth, I promise you. You have not sacrificed any honour in doing this."

There was so much she wanted to say to that. Something Kyral had said to her in the Academy suddenly bubbled up to the surface of her mind; do unto others as they would do unto you, only do it first. She'd hated that idea even back then. Was that what Daelan was suggesting now? Oh, what was she doing here? Even Peregrine hadn't had a problem with killing, not after Elynwynd had convinced him that it was all righteous and defending the faith and other meaningless little sayings like that. He'd just told her not to think about it; just to do it. But she did think about it, every time, and it hurt.

This wasn't the Academy, though. This was the real world, real life, and she wasn't going to let Daelan see just how badly she was coping with it. "All right," she breathed, and he took his hands away with a brisk nod.

"Shall we continue?" he asked.

For Aribeth. For Neverwinter. "Yes," she agreed, nodding as firmly as she could manage under the circumstances. "Let's keep going."

They moved on around the corner, down a small flight of stairs, through a door. The second they stepped over the threshold, the stink of sweat and urine and filth overwhelmed their senses, causing Kialeth to nearly gag. As if she hadn't been feeling bad enough already. What had she done in a past life, she asked herself, to deserve this?

She'd probably sold her father, supplied her brain. And possibly her mother as well. Needless to say, it didn't make her feel all that much better.

"This must be the place we were told about," remarked Daelan, peering out into the gloom. "Where the prisoners are left to their own devices. Which," he added, a smile of something like reassurance flickering on his lips, "seem to involve creating as much of a stench as possible."

Kialeth smiled weakly, still feeling rather sickened from the smell. "Let's get this over with quickly, shall we?" she suggested. Daelan nodded, and for a second their eyes met. They were both thinking the same thing exactly.

Something about that made Kialeth want to smile, but she didn't.

"Keep together," instructed Daelan, taking his double axe into his hands. "Keep your rapier out and your magic ready, and be prepared for attack at all times." Something about the instructions reminded her of Diadan, her old teacher. He was probably dead now. There was no way he could have made it out, really - not with the number of survivors so low. But she wouldn't think about the Academy; not now. She couldn't afford to. Later on, when they got back to the Halls of Justice…

If they got back to the Halls of Justice…

Kialeth's blood ran cold at that thought.

She had never felt quite so fragile in all her life. She had just killed a man. It had never properly occurred to her, until now, just how easy it would be for someone else to do the same to her. The hope that she would make it out of this alive had been far more than a hope; it had been a desperate need - and now she was face-to-face with the idea that it might not happen.

What was she doing, she asked herself, risking her life for people she barely knew?

"Kialeth? Are you there?"

Daelan's voice cut her thoughts mercifully short, before anything in her subconscious could even begin to answer the question. "Yes," she replied. "I'm here. Let's get going."

But even to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow… almost dead.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

It was well and truly dark by the time Vissea finally arrived in the Trade of Blades. Peregrine had been waiting for nearly half an hour, making up excuses for her in his head to stave off boredom. Once or twice, he had considered giving up on her, but never for more than a second. This was the chance of a lifetime; he would have to be insane to pass it up. And so for what felt like a year, Peregrine had bravely weathered the derisive stares and comments from the mercenaries who had apparently never seen somebody waiting alone before.

And then, just as he thought he had had enough, she appeared, resplendent in a blood-red dress that stopped at her knees, clung in all the right places and showed off plenty of cleavage. She looked completely out of place in the smoky, alcohol-hazy mercenary enclave; in fact, she seemed like she would be more at home in one of the classy restaurants in Blacklake. "I thought you'd have given up on me!" she exclaimed as she sank down into her seat opposite Peregrine, to the blatant stares of the majority of the remaining patrons. "I'm so sorry I'm late, Peregrine; I thought I should stop at my room and get changed… make it a proper night out, you know. Have you eaten yet?"

"No," he replied weakly, still in shock from the low neckline of the dress.

She made a noise of horror. "Gods, you must be starving! Let's order, then. I'll pay for it all, don't worry," she added before he could open his mouth to breathe, let alone state his choice of meal. "You've had to wait. I owe you one."

Everyone was staring, Peregrine realised uncomfortably. He felt completely out of his depth, here with this beautiful woman who was obviously able to pay for a meal here and then plenty more afterwards, and he wanted to say something to her, but she looked so happy, so glad to be here with him, that the words got stuck in his throat.

"Um. Could I have, er, the steak, please?" he asked instead, feeling like a child asking for his mother's permission.

"Sure," she agreed, flashing him a dazzling smile. She'd painted her lips red, too, he realised. It was so unfair. How was she so beautiful? He'd almost considered her an equal back in the slums, when she had looked half-normal. Now she just looked too good for him.

He watched her almost despairingly as she ordered their meals. Now they weren't fighting for their lives, she was alarmingly seductive - even to the man who came to take their order. She was just so different, so new and alien, and it was painful. It hurt.

"So," she began, leaning forward across the table as the waiter hurried back to the kitchen. "You're a guard now, hmm? How did you get into it? Did the Academy refer you or something? I don't think you told me earlier."

"No," he replied awkwardly, shifting in his seat. "I was in the Academy when it went down. I went into the militia by default, really. Kialeth didn't, though," he added without thinking. "She got out of it - I don't know how. Lucky thing."

Vissea raised her eyebrows. "Kialeth was your friend, then?"

All of a sudden, Peregrine realised what he had said. "Oh, no! No, we weren't like that. She was just a friend - she is just a friend. She has been ever since I came to the Academy."

Satisfied with this, although personally Peregrine couldn't imagine why, Vissea nodded. "Where would we be without friends, huh? Did you have many others? You seem pretty good with people."

She was obviously talking to somebody else, Peregrine decided. "There was one other. Her name was Kyral… she went missing after the Academy fell. And I suppose Cara counts." No. No. He was not going to talk to Vissea about Cara Meyne. But it was too late for that, now. If he just stopped there, she was free to assume what she liked, and he didn't want that. He wanted Cara and Kyral to be remembered as they were, not as somebody else wanted to remember them. "She'd only just started talking to me when we were attacked. She was killed by the attackers."

Vissea scowled. "I'd like to kill the buggers who did it. They shouldn't be allowed to live for all that."

Such anger coming from such an immaculate person was a little unnerving at first, until he remembered the Vissea he had first met. "Maybe we could go after them together?" he suggested, then mentally gave himself a very good kicking. He was messing this up. He had been messing this up ever since she had walked into the Trade of Blades and his eyes had started growing stalks. But she didn't rebuke him for being foolish; far from it, in fact. Instead, she actually smiled.

"I think we could," she agreed, and Peregrine glowed.

They talked for hours, over their meal, until it was nearing midnight and both were beginning to fall asleep into their plates. "What time is it?" asked Vissea eventually, looking out of the window and up at the moon.

"I can't tell," Peregrine admitted. "Sorry."

Truth be told, he didn't care. All his misgivings of earlier had completely dropped away during the course of the night. This was Vissea, and he was out with her, and she was beautiful. He should be happy, and so he had made himself be happy, for her. The only drawback was that now he was happy, he didn't want the night to stop. He didn't want to have to go back to the barracks and sleep, knowing that there was someone like Vissea Meladri in the world. Just recognising that she was alive, on the same world as him, was enough to send him over the moon and back.

He only wished he had the guts to tell her that.

"We ought to be getting back, then," she sighed, placing enough money to pay for their meal down on the table as she pushed herself up to her feet. "What shift are we on tomorrow, do you know?"

I don't care what shift we're on, Peregrine thought. "The midday shift, I think," he said aloud. She grinned broadly in response.

"Brilliant! We get to sleep in that way. Come on then, Peregrine Locke…" She offered him her hand, which he took gladly. "Let's go back to the barracks. We can talk again tomorrow's shift."

And so Peregrine let himself be led out of the Trade of Blades, with a song in his heart and the hand of the woman he loved clasped tight in his own.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The rain was falling again; a light drizzle, making the cobblestones seem to shine in the lantern-lit night. Kialeth and Daelan walked briskly towards the City Core, blood staining the white rag that hung from Daelan's belt. It was his turn to carry the prize this time, he had insisted. In a way, Kialeth was grateful, although it wouldn't have mattered if he had told her it was her turn again. Her hands couldn't stink any more of blood than they already did, after all.

Neither spoke on the way out of the prison. There was nothing really for either of them to say; words of victory and congratulations had already passed between them, and they had both checked that they could handle all their wounds until reaching the Core again. And besides, Kialeth was in no mood for talking. All she wanted now was to sleep, and to get all this out of the way. Then she could put it behind her, forget about it, and find some other career - because there was no way, after the events of today, that she was doing this for any longer than she had to.

"Kialeth?" asked Daelan suddenly. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and he continued. "Are you all right? You have been far quieter than usual since we left the prison. Is something wrong?"

"Daelan, I'm fine," she began in reply, turning away and taking another step forward. "There's nothing to worry-"

The magical explosion took both of them completely by surprise, and both shielded their gazes from the smoke that had suddenly burst forth from the ground. When Kialeth opened her eyes, two armed thugs were coming at her with knives.

"That's her!" yelled one of them. "Get her down!" But she didn't hesitate; she flung out a globe of blue energy from her spellcasting hand, pushing one of them backwards against the wall. He staggered to his feet behind his fellows; she would have to take care of him in a moment. She drew her rapier and ignited it with negative energy in one fluid movement, throwing herself into battle with her over-muscled opponent.

He was strong, she would give him that. But he was nowhere near as quick as the convicts she had encountered up in the prison - and his knife was far smaller than her rapier. She danced lightly around him, avoiding all the kicks and stabs he sent her way and getting in her own blows where she could. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Daelan fighting two of them at once with his double axe. Once, when she took a precious second to glance over her shoulder, she saw him take one of their heads off.

Her sword hand slipped at this, and the next thing she knew the blade of her sword was firmly entrenched in his gut.

Behind her, two other heads hit the floor.

It was nearing midnight by the time they reached the Halls of Justice, and both were visibly affected by the rain, however light it had been. Daelan hesitated at the door, handing Kialeth the white rag that contained the bloodied chunk of Intellect Devourer brain. "I will take my leave, then," he stated quietly. "If we could meet again tomorrow, then…" He paused, unsure about what he was saying. "Then I would be happy to accompany you again, Kialeth," he concluded eventually. "You have proven yourself capable of performing the task you have been entrusted with, and it would be an honour to aid you on your way."

She smiled weakly, her happiness at these rare words of kindness showing in her eyes. "Tomorrow in the Trade of Blades at sunrise, then?" she asked, tilting her head enquiringly to one side as she waited for confirmation.

"That will be fine." He turned to leave, then turned back abruptly to face her. "Remember to take the note to Fenthick," he reminded her, adjusting his axe on his back. "I am sure he will be very interested in what this cultist has to say."

"I won't forget," she affirmed, and he smiled and nodded and went on his way. All of a sudden, Kialeth was alone in the rain and the dark.

Suddenly scared, she turned and hurried into the Halls of Justice.

"Kialeth!" exclaimed Aribeth, striding over to the door and leading the bedraggled spellsword into the warm. "You're soaking wet! Whatever happened? Have you found anything else?"

"We went to the Peninsula," explained Kialeth, keeping her eyes down. She didn't want all this attention; all she wanted right now was to get cleaned up and to sleep. "The Intellect Devourer was using the Head Gaoler's body; we killed the Devourer, but Alaefin died too. I'm sorry, Lady Aribeth." She hated the sound of her own voice; she felt like a child apologising to her mother for staying out too late. Aribeth, however, shook her head.

"No apologies; you have done what had to be done, Kialeth, and this is all that matters." She smiled warmly, and Kialeth couldn't help but feel a tiny bit better. "Now, do you have the brain?"

Such a question would have been so surreal in any other circumstances, and it made Kialeth stifle a laugh. Aribeth looked mildly entertained, too, although it was more due to her protégé's amusement than anything else. "Yes," replied Kialeth eventually, when the moment of fun had passed and the reality of the situation had smothered her once more. She handed over the bloodstained package, which Aribeth swiftly deposited in her own bag.

"I must say," she began as she fastened the bag closed, "you have done far more than was expected of you. Two components in one day! Where others have found only failure, you have discovered shining success." The words meant nothing to Kialeth, though; she heard them, but she didn't feel their impact any more. She just wanted rest. "The plague has of course drained the city's coffers significantly, but I am sure we can stretch to a reward of five-hundred gold pieces for your efforts."

The spellsword shook her head vehemently. "No. I don't want - I don't need it," she corrected herself hastily. She didn't want to be rude… but she didn't want a reward, either. Aribeth, obviously unaccustomed to this reaction, eyed her with some concern.

"Are you sure?" She rested a hand on Kialeth's shoulder, leaning down to meet her eyes. "Is something the matter, Kialeth? You seem very quiet."

"I'm fine. I just…" She sighed. "It's nothing. I'm all right."

Aribeth shook her head. "You are far from all right. Now, what has happened?"

Kialeth lowered her gaze again. "I just don't think I deserve a reward for killing people," she confessed. "That was all I did, and I don't want to be paid for that. I know it's part of adventuring, but - well, you put murderers in prison, and in that case shouldn't I… no. Forget I said it. I'm sorry; I'm just tired out. That's all."

The paladin tightened her grip on Kialeth's shoulder, but did not push her further. "Of course. Don't go back to the mercenary enclave; we can find you a room here with the priests of Tyr, for tonight. Ask one of the nurses to show you the way; they will help you."

She glanced at the nurses, who looked like they had their hands full already, but didn't mention it. "Thank you, Lady Aribeth," she whispered, as she turned around and left for bed.

"Oh, Kialeth," breathed Aribeth as the door closed behind the spellsword. "What have I put you through?"

Kialeth did not see Fenthick on her way to bed; she assumed he had been sensible and gone to sleep. The note from the cultist remained tucked in her pocket as she ascended the stairs, following the hasty directions she had been given, and slipped into the bathroom. She washed herself off quickly, barely able to keep her eyes open by this point, and then returned to the room she had been assigned.

It was a small room, and not especially decorated either. But the elf barely noticed, as she dried herself as fast as she could and put on a white nightdress from the chest of drawers in the corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. With her pale skin, her white clothing, and her dark hair still drying down her back, she looked like a ghost.

Like the dead.

Ignoring the towel that still lay crumpled on the floor, Kialeth curled up in the bed and cried herself quietly to sleep.

* * *

_Chapter four is in progress now, and it will not be another five-month wait before it's posted. Thanks for reading!_


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